


Lessons in Hunting and Kindness

by volatileSoloist



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Child Neglect, Found Family, Hunters & Hunting, Lots of icelandic words, Original Character(s), artur kinda came off as a little bit of a dick to me in the short so im expanding on that, you thought hound was young in the short? yeah they're even younger in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist
Summary: Blóðhundur let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, and turned their gaze from their uncle to the woods surrounding them. They had been hunting together since early in the morning, but now, the sun was beginning to set. Artur had already caught dinner, lugging it on his back with ease, and yet still they hunted. Even the cool spring breeze could not mask the sound of their stomach growling.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Lessons in Hunting and Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> I _loved_ the new short, obviously. Was inspired enough to write this small fic, where I hoped to expand a little bit on any potential connections Hound might have in the village outside of their uncle.

“Uncle Artur...”

“Hush, child.”

“When are we going back home?”

“In due time. Now, focus.”

Blóðhundur let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, and turned their gaze from their uncle to the woods surrounding them. They were in a deeper part of the forest, having slowly worked their way inward from the outskirts over the course of the day. They had been hunting together since early in the morning, but now, the sun was beginning to set—a little later in the day now, as winter hobbled on its last legs with spring ready to move in for the kill. Still, the cool breeze twisting through the maze of old bark and stiff underbrush could not mask the sound of their stomach growling. Artur had already caught dinner, lugging it on his back with ease, and yet still they hunted.

A slight movement in the distance caught their eye, and to their delight, they recognized it as one of the many prey beasts that called these woods home. Many such creatures had gone into hibernation during the harsh winter months, but now they were finally beginning to emerge. Artur gave them a gentle nudge, and Blóðhundur slowly inched forward, arrow nocked and locked onto the beast as it grazed on the sparse vegetation. They could almost taste it, and as they readied the arrow to fly—

**CRUNCH.**

—they caught their foot on a small, brittle twig that snapped under their meager weight. Immediately their prey startled, and bolted deeper into the woods.

“ _Helvíti!_ ” they cursed, only to receive a small knock on the back of their head.

“Watch your tongue.” Artur scolded, before sighing and shaking his head. He rose to his feet, readjusting his kill on his back. “You must be more aware of your surroundings, young one. A skilled hunter would make such a mistake.”

“But I am _not_ a skilled hunter! Artur, please, I want to go back. We have been out all day, and I have had no luck, and I am _hungry_ ,” Blóðhundur whined.

“Hunting is not about luck. Such a thing does not exist.” He looked down at Blóðhundur and stroked his beard pensively. Blóðhundur did their best to look pitiful, which truthfully was not very hard at all, with how weary and wretched they felt. But Artur shook his head at them, and said, “ _I_ will go back. If you want to eat, earn it yourself, young one.”

Blóðhundur gaped at him, their bow dropping to the ground with a _clunk_.

“Do not look at me like me like that. You need to learn, young one. The lessons of the old ways are harsh, but they will teach you well.”

“ _Artur—_ ”

“ _Enough,_ child. You may be young yet, but I have faith that you will find _something._ ” He turned away from them and took a few steps away before looking over his shoulder at them. “May the _Alfaðir_ bless your hunt. I expect to see you tomorrow morning.”

As their uncle disappeared through the trees, Blóðhundur let their shoulders sag as they slumped to the ground. They held a hand to their grumbling stomach before blowing a spiteful raspberry in his direction. After they allowed themself their brief moment of self pity, slowly, they got off the ground and into a crouch. _Alfaðir_ willing, they would find that ‘something’ quickly.

Stealthily they crept forward, and kept their eyes out for the tracks of the creature that had gotten away. It was their best bet for a meal, and even if it had covered some distance in the time Artur had spent lecturing, it couldn’t have gone _that_ far.

Indeed, it was easy to find its hoofprints in mud, and carefully, they followed the tracks. As much as they tried to focus, their hunger kept pushing its way into their attention. Would the creature lead them back to its den, where there could perhaps be some of its young? If they could catch the adult off guard, they would save a certainly difficult and dangerous fight. The young would make for a paltry meal, but an easy kill was all they wanted at this point.

The sun lowered itself through what of the sky they could see through the conifer canopy above them as they followed the trail. They had meandered for quite a while, the beast having indeed seemingly covered a great distance in such a short time. They couldn’t afford to lose it again, unless they wanted to practice hunting blind. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, their other senses too became more alert. The fear of any predators catching onto them was a spectre at the back of their mind, raising goosebumps on their arms.

Preoccupied by that thought as they were, they almost completely ruined their chances as their long-pursued quarry suddenly came into view. It lifted its long neck into the air, searching for them, but Blóðhundur had gone stock still, breath quieting to almost nothing. As it leaned down to graze again, they slowly raised their bow into position. They could taste it already. They exhaled, whispered a quiet prayer to the _Alfaðir_ , and as they began to loosen the arrow— **THOCK** —the beast suddenly flopped to the ground, a _different_ arrow sticking from its back.

Once again, their jaw dropped from shock. Slowly a figure emerged from the brush, moving toward the carcass to collect it, and Hound recognized them as Ingrid, one of the women from their village.

But such familiarity did not matter in that moment. Blóðhundur was _furious_.

Stomping forward, they yelled out an indignant, “ _Hæ!_ ”

Ingrid startled, almost raising her bow before realizing it was them. “Oh, _hállo_ , Blóðhundur. I did not see you—”

“That was _my_ kill!” They shouted, stomping their foot. “You stole my kill!”

Ingrid stared at them, bewildered at their rage. “Peace, _krúttið mitt._ What has gotten you so worked up?”

“I have spent _all_ evening tracking this beast, and it was _mine_ , and—and Artur, Artur said he wasn’t g-going to give me dinner unless I c-caught it myself, and, and—” Blóðhundur was shocked to suddenly find themself crying, their words halted by sobs as the stress of the day finally overwhelmed them. They flumped down onto the ground, burying their head in their hands to stifle the pathetic sound of them wailing. What would Artur say if he saw them now?

Suddenly, they felt a gentle hand on their shoulder, and it surprised them enough to look up with tear-filled goggles at Ingrid. “Shhh, little one. Do not cry. I would be more than happy to share this kill with you.”

“Really? B-but Artur said—”

“Artur does not need to know. Why not come to my house, and I will prepare dinner for you with the rest of my family?”

Blóðhundur sniffled, wiping their nose on their sleeve. “ _þakka þér kærlega_ , Ingrid. Yes, I would like that.”

Ingrid hauled the creature onto her back before giving them a helping hand to their feet, and then kept her guiding hand on their shoulder as they walked out through the woods. The creature must have wandered to the edge of the forest, as it took surprisingly little time before the trees thinned out and the village came slowly into view.

As the sun finally fell below the horizon, they mounted the steps to Ingrid’s home. As the door opened and they stepped inside, a rush of heat from the roaring fire inside swept over them, and they realized how cold they had been in the forest. Spring may have been on its way, but winter was still digging its claws in, and they had never been so grateful to be inside before.

“Ingrid, _elskan, velkominn!_ ” cried a voice from inside, and Blóðhundur could see a smile bloom on Ingrid’s face as her wife Asta came around the corner. She stopped short when she saw Blóðhundur by her side, but she greeted them in stride. “ _Hállo, sá litli_. What brings you to our home tonight?”

“Ingrid said I could eat with you. Is that okay?” They said shyly, looking down at their feet.

“It’s more than fine, Blóðhundur, but why not with your uncle?”

Ingrid huffed and walked to the kitchen, taking her kill off her back and onto the counter. “Because Artur is acting like a _skúrkur fífl._ He told Blóðhundur that they would not eat tonight unless they caught it themself.”

“Ahh,” Asta said, “Not very surprising for him.” She looked down pityingly at Blóðhundur. “He just wants you to grow as a hunter, young one.”

“Blóðhundur is a _child_ , Asta,” Ingrid said scornfully. Turning to Blóðhundur, she asked, “How many winters are you?”

“Eleven, Ingrid.”

“You see? That is too much to ask of someone so young.”

Asta sighed, placing a hand on Blóðhundur’s shoulder to steer them to the table. “How will they pass their trials if they are not prepared properly, _astín mín?_ ”

There was a meaty **thwack** from the kitchen as Ingrid began to prepare the creature. “Their trials are not for several more winters. One free meal, perhaps a few, will not hurt their progress.”

“I suppose,” Asta said hesitantly. She looked down at Blóðhundur and said, “Sit, child. Ingrid and I will make dinner.”

“Can I help?” Blóðhundur asked, suddenly feeling a wave of uselessness wash over them. First they fail to catch their own dinner, and now they were just to have it handed to them?

“You may,” Ingrid called out. “Come, you can help me clean the beast. We can always use an extra pair of hands in this home.”

A small smile broke over their face, and they plodded further in. Ingrid had already made good progress, but there was still much to be done. Blóðhundur pulled out their knife, ready to get to work, but Ingrid stopped them. “Wait, young one.” She pointed them toward one of the creature’s antlers. “Take one of these as a spoil of the hunt. That way Artur will have no reason to doubt you.”

“Thank you, Ingrid,” they said once again, but their grin was slowly fading. “I... I must ask, though, why are you showing me such a kindness?”

“It is no problem, child.” She lowered her voice slightly before saying, “Artur may be a good teacher, but as a guardian? Perhaps not so much. You need kindness in your life, Blóðhundur, just as much as you need skill. Asta and I, we have no child of our own, so if you need someone to show you this kindness, please, _krúttið mitt,_ come to us.”

Blóðhundur was speechless, feeling a wave of affection rush over them like the heat from the home’s fire. Suddenly, they rushed forward to hug Ingrid, not caring if the blood on her apron stained their clothing. Ingrid barely hesitated for a moment before returning their embrace.

The tender moment, however, was interrupted by a loud growl from Blóðhundur’s stomach. The two burst out laughing, and Ingrid let them go before turning back to the carcass. “Perhaps we should focus on preparing dinner, young one.”

“Yes please,” Blóðhundur said, and readied to begin. They could already feel the weariness of the day melting off of them.


End file.
